Motion
by sinkfloridasink
Summary: Set in their medical school days. House and Cuddy have a moment at the end of year ball. Oneshot, fluffiness, Huddy, etc. Rating is because of a little cursing.


**A/N **Here's a quick, fluffy little Huddy ficlet. (: It takes place during their med school years (timings are a bit off... but whatever). It's from House's POV. This was originally to be included in a 50-chapter story but I can't ever finish anything so I decided I'd throw this one up here. Have fun with it.

* * *

**Motion**

While staring at his reflection in the mens' bathroom mirror, he can't help but see a sorry bastard blinking back at him, remorse and regret communicated clearly in his piercing, icy blue eyes. He feels idiotic as he examines himself in the mirror, especially because he's been doing it for at least ten minutes now…but he's got no worry of someone else walking in, because every other guy in attendance to the end-of-year ball is out in the ballroom, dancing with his date. He scowls at the thought, though he doesn't necessarily intend to--he's just so bitter about the night that it happens beyond his control.

To make things worse, he feels awkward as he wears a three-piece suit that had previously been owned by his father. It's black with sky blue pinstripes and a matching tie; the suit makes it clear that he's miserable because of the way his tie brings out his eyes. His parents had sent it to his dorm after he'd admitted to them through a phone call that he'd have a date for the ball--and it also served as a graduation present. They shipped it with a note that said, in his mother's chicken-scratch handwriting, _"Congratulations! Have fun at the ball!--Love, Mom and Dad."_

As much as he doubts his father truly sends his love, he still feels obligated to appreciate their gift--the suit had to have had an original cost of at least three hundred dollars. It feels comfortable and it looks good on him--it looks good on him _for her._ He figures it'll make her happy if he dresses up nicely for one night, since he's usually wearing blue jeans and some band t-shirt. It's the only thing he can do for her, at least--he's a hopeless romantic and a pathetic choice of a date; it boggles his mind that she asked _him _to escort her.

He pushes out a melodramatic sigh and thinks about how she's out there, and how she's probably feeling impatient on the dance floor as she waits for him to return. He feels an overwhelming sense of repressed guilt for keeping her alone for so long, but he can't find the will to go back out into the ballroom. He thinks back to when she'd originally asked him to be her escort, going straight to his dorm to ask in person rather than on the phone, because she'd known that it would've been easier for him to deny if she called and asked. That was true--he couldn't refuse her gorgeous eyes, just like he couldn't tonight when he picked her up.

Even so, he regrets ever accepting to be her date, because he knows that the night will end horribly. He wants it all to end now; he's sick of looking at his upset reflection in the godforsaken mirror; he wishes none of this was happening--

"Greg?"

His stomach turns over.

His knuckles are turning white from clenching his fists as he listens to her quiet, familiar footsteps echoing themselves into the restroom; _Why is she here? _he thinks a bit angrily, wanting her to leave him be so he can consider ditching this whole event. But part of him wants her there.

He unclenches his fists and turns to look at her, sticking his hands in his pockets. He mutters, "This is the mens' room, Lisa."

She gives him a witty smile from across the bathroom, then walks toward him. "I was wondering if you were all right," she says, rubbing his arm compassionately. "It's been almost fifteen minutes. Feeling sick, Dr. House?"

He furrows his eyebrows, disapproving of her attempt at a joke. "You're pathetic," he remarks.

She sighs. "Greg, this is it--you've finished med school; next year you'll be working in a hospital somewhere…" She grips his shoulder. "You've never been to an end-of-year ball the whole time you've been at this school, and this is your last chance."

He casts tired eyes upon her slim figure, feeling horrible because, hell--he can tell that she is unhappy as well by gazing into the matching blue hues that stare up at him longingly. He realizes she is right…this _is _his last chance to enjoy the end-of-year ball and the only thing he's doing is throwing the opportunity away.

"I can't do this," he sighs.

She rubs his arm again. "What's eating you?"

But he pulls away from her touch, aggravated and annoyed; he takes a couple steps backward and turns his back on her so he doesn't have to look at her--it's too painful of an experience for him. "You don't understand," he mutters. "I'm a pathetic choice of a date, and honestly, I pity you for asking me to do this. I can't give you the happiness you deserve, like the other guys are giving to their dates." He pushes out a breath of air, unsure of what to say next. "We both know that this is only going to end in one of two ways--bad, or…worse."

And now the anguish of the bad thoughts that have been circulating through his head all night finally sets in. He's so frustrated he almost wants to cry, but he can't do that--instead, he takes a few deep breaths and impatiently anticipates her reply. He whispers, "I don't even know why you asked me…"

But suddenly, her arms are snaking up his chest from behind and she's in his ear, saying softly, "I asked you because I _like _you."

He hasn't heard anything like this, and he's trying to mask his surprise as she turns him around, takes his hands, and starts ballroom dancing with him to the tunes of the easylistening music playing from the overhead speakers. _In the _bathroom_, for God's sake, _he thinks…but he doesn't mind it at all.

"How's this?" she smiles.

He smiles back. "I like this."

* * *


End file.
